John's Nightmare
by Violet Butterflies
Summary: John dreams that Sherlock jumps again. Set between series 2 and 3 so don't read if you haven't seen. Might be a bit OOC. Rated T for some reason. Enjoy!


**A/N: I was reading some Sherlock canons and this one caught my attention. This is a oneshot and it's my first fanfic. I'd really appreciate a review. Thanks x**

This couldn't be happening. Please God let this not be happening. Let it be some sick nightmare or something. Because John had once again found himself standing on the street in front of St. Bart's, looking up at Sherlock, who was standing far too close to the edge. He was looking at John and John could hear his heart beating so loudly that he couldn't concentrate on what Sherlock was saying.

Sherlock had phoned him, just like last time. He was telling John things like, "I can't go on knowing you hate me, John," and "you don't need me anymore..." John was just staring up at him, his eyes wide. He should have said he did need him, he was his best friend. And he certainly didn't hate him. He loved him so much that it broke his heart when he left the last time and John didn't think he'd ever be happy again. That when he came back he was so relieved that he was alive and he was only angry with him for leaving him alone for so long. But he didn't say anything. Instead he stared in horror as his brilliant flatmate dropped his phone.

A sick sense of déja vu twisted in his gut as he saw Sherlock spread his arms wide and fell forwards towards the hard concrete below. "Sherlock!" He heard himself yell as he saw Sherlocks body hit the pavement. He found himself running towards the body, pushing people who were crowding around aside. He saw Sherlock and his legs buckled under him. Sherlock was lying, broken and bleeding and dead, really dead this time. And it was all John's fault for shutting him out. Paramedics arrived and as they pulled John away from Sherlock he found his voice and cried "Sherlock!"

John awoke in a cold sweat, breathing heavily with his flatmates name on his lips. He sat bolt upright, his face was wet with tears which he hurriedly dried on his sleeve. He tried to slow his breathing.

When he was breathing normally again, he lay back down and tried to settle but the nightmare had terrified him and he was afraid that Sherlock was gone, that he never even came back at all. He quietly slid out of bed and crept downstairs to Sherlock's room. This had been one of the rare nights that he decided he needed to sleep or he might collapse from exhaustion. Although he was tired since he returned he still didn't sleep much.

John quietly opened the door to Sherlock's room and stepped inside. Sherlock was in bed wearing his grey pyjamas, wrapped in the duvet. He looked so peaceful asleep, the cool expression he normally wore now absent from his pale face. But John was still wary, his mind had played cruel tricks on him while Sherlock was gone. He stepped up to the bed and gently eased himself into the bed beside Sherlock, looking at him and relishing the warm breath on his face, it meant he was alive.

Sherlock frowned in his sleep and then his eyes opened. If he was surprised to see john there he didn't show it. "John," he said softly, "what's wrong? Why are you here?" John didn't say anything and he didn't meet the detective's eyes, embaressed. Sherlock narrowed his eyes slightly, making a deduction, "you had a nightmare, didn't you?" John finally looked Sherlock in the eye and nodded, "you left me." he said quietly, "You jumped off the roof at Bart's again. You were dead, properly this time."

Sherlock frowned slightly, "I would never do that, John," he said matter-of-factly, "I'm here to stay." John relaxed and nodded again, comforted by his words. He was tired now, he wanted to go to sleep, "Night Sherlock," he mumbled and he was asleep withing seconds.

Sherlock looked at John, noting the cold sweat on his face and how his eyes betrayed that he had been crying. Feeling something not unlike guilt deep into the pit of his stomach he wrapped his arms protectively around the ex-army medic.

When John woke up he was noticed he had snuggled up to Sherlock in his sleep, his head on his shoulder and an arm across his chest. Sherlock had his arms around John. But John was still tired so he just shrugged one shoulder and went back to sleep.

When he woke up again Sherlock wasn't in the bed. He got up and after a quick look found him in his chair fiddling with his phone. Neither of them spoke a word of the night before, but that night John joined Sherlock in his bed again. Then the next night. Soon the had an unspoken agreement that they would share Sherlock's bed. John didn't have any more nightmares after that.


End file.
